


Just One Bite

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Bakery AU, F/M, Jurassic World AU, a lot of nonsense really, small town AU, sweet romance, who doesn't love a bakery au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-05-31 06:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19420597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Who doesn't love a small town, relocation, bakery AU?





	1. Chapter 1

Claire Dearing stood outside her dream - her literal dream building, soon to house her very own bakery - and stared at the lock, willing it to give in.

She’d collected the keys yesterday from the bank, slept the sleep of the newly self-employed at her cute little family-run hotel, and had arrived here bright and early, excited to get in, look around, and proclaim her dream achieved.

However, the key... Did not work.

In fact, _none_ of the damn keys worked.

The teller at the bank had apologetically explained that none of them were labelled, but to call if she had any trouble.

She had called, but no one had picked up. And damned if she was going to drive a hour back to the bank on a Saturday when they might not even be open. She had no 4G signal here, so couldn't check the opening times.

Claire tried the first key again. Or was it the second? They looked the same. "For fuck's sake," she muttered under her breath. Her mother would have a fit if she heard her perfect society daughter swearing like a sailor.

Neither worked.

“Oh, come _on!_ ” she shouted at the door.

She could go back to the hotel. What on earth had possessed her to check out at 7am? Couldn’t she have had breakfast and a lie-in like a normal person?

“Need a hand?”

Claire’s head whipped around, her nose catching the scent of clean sweat, sawdust and cut grass.

The stranger stole her breath. He was big. Tall, broad shoulders. Those broad shoulders held her gaze for several seconds before she reached his face. Sharp cheekbones. He'd broken his nose once, probably a long time ago, and the kink gave his face some friendly character. 

His honey-coloured hair curled a little over his forehead, giving him a charming, rough-and-tumble look.

But it was his eyes that really held her attention. As the stranger stepped closer, she saw the quiet intensity in them. His irises were the green of a mountain lake, shot through with just a touch of gold.

He wore running gear and held a dumbell bottle in one hand.

Pushing a hand through her hair, Claire sighed. “I’m locked out.”

He studied her for a second. “Just moved to town?”

“Yes, and what an illustrious path I’ve begun to forge myself,” she said dryly. “Look, I appreciate you stopping, but I’ve already phoned the bank, so I’ll just get back-”

“Do you have a paperclip?”

Claire stopped short at the interruption, and glanced down at the huge canvas bag at her feet. It contained most of her life. “I guess? Yes, I think so.”

She crouched down and dug into the bag, finding her little ladybird pot of odds and ends. “I should…. Aha!” She proferred the two small metal objects and their hands touched. A tiny zing shot up Claire’s arm, but she mentally shook it off. It was seven-thirty in the morning. Probably just a tiny chill in the air.

He held her gaze as she stood. “Mind if I pick your lock?” he asked in a honey-on-bourbon voice.

“I….” She stared at him for a second. “Do you make a habit of picking the locks of all the women you come across on the sidewalk?”

The stranger bent down towards her lock, that stray curl of hair falling into his eyes as he did so. He shot her a grin that was just this side of cocky. “Nah, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

Claire stood beside him awkwardly. What should she do? What if the police came past? What would she say?  _ Hey there Officer, locked out, but I own this building, well, as of last week anyway, so this good Samaritan is breaking in for me….? _

That would look real good on her first day in town.

She could only hope that Sexy Passerby didn’t have a penchant for gossip. In a small town, talk spread like wildfire. Would she end up being The Woman Who Got Locked Out (and also owns that bakery) forever?

“I’m Claire, by the way,” she told the stranger, so she looked as if she might be involved in the break-in.

“Owen. I live a few blocks away,” he explained, as he worked at her lock. “Almost got it. Wondered who bought this place when the sold sign went up. What’s your plan?”

“I’m opening a bakery.”

“What’s it called?”

“I don’t know yet. There’s a lot of work involved before I open - I thought I’d see how it evolves before I settle on a name.”

“Smart.” There was a snick, and Owen stood up, the two paperclips in his hand, one unbent, the other in a L shape. He pushed the door and it swung open. “Here you go.”

Claire looked into the wide hallway behind the door. The stairs ahead led up to the apartment she’d be living in, and the door to the left led into the shop space.

It smelled musty, there was a mountain of post piled up on the floor of the hall, and it probably hadn’t seen a broom or hoover in seven hundred years, but-

But it was hers, and nothing else mattered.

“Thankyou,” she told Owen, meaning it. “Thank you. You’ve saved me an hour’s drive to a bank that probably isn’t even open today.”

He picked up his water bottle and gave her a lazy salute. “No problem.” He glanced at her car, the boot tied closed, packed with her entire life. “You need a hand with your stuff?”

“I-” Why deny it? She eyed the obvious muscles peeking out from under his grey Henley. Her sister kept saying she needed to stop assuming she had to do every damn thing. Maybe she should give it a go for once. “That’d be great, if you have time?”

“It’s Saturday, not even 8am. Where else would I be?”

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. With his wife and kids? Maybe he had neither.

Or, knowing her luck, maybe he had both, and was just being a friendly, good neighbour to the newcomer.

Trying not to read into it, she led him across the street to her car - the keys for which did work, because wouldn’t that have been a treat -and opened the boot all the way.

He assessed it for a second, then glanced at her. “This it?”

“This is it. My entire life wedged into a Prius.”

Owen tossed his empty bottle on to a box and scooped it up as if it weighed nothing - and it was labelled COOKBOOKS - VEGAN, so she knew it was damn heavy. “Not many people around who’d move somewhere new, just up and go.”

The little note of admiration in his voice made her smile, and she picked up a smaller box. “Well, I could only afford a cupboard in New York City, and it’s really hard to cook when you can’t move your elbows.”

He chuckled and together they walked through her hallway. Claire juggled the box and slid the orange key into the shop door. It worked, thank the Key God. She toed it open.

The big window had been covered over with old newspaper, so the morning light eked in through the cracks in the news sheets. The floorboards were dirty, but solid. To the left stood a wide counter with shelving behind, to the right and straight ahead sat two long counters, which Claire planned to cover with slate and use to display her cupcakes and pastries.

She breathed it in - and the stale air caused a hacking cough.

Owen set down the box and took hers off her. “Hey. You OK?”

She scrubbed at her face. “I was trying to have a moment. I suppose it would have been smarter to try and get one after I crack open a window or two.”

“Yeah, this place has been shut up for…. Maybe four years? It’ll be great to have some new life in town.”

He headed out to the car and came back with two more boxes.

For the next half hour they worked in silence, carting boxes until all that was left were the three boxes of her clothes and personal items.

Claire led the way up the stairs to the apartment space. The advert had proclaimed it “perfectly liveable but in need of some renovation.” She wasn’t an idiot - she knew what that meant. All she really needed was somewhere solid and quiet to sleep and a working toilet for the first little while.

Based on the smell when the door opened, maybe even that would be asking too much.

The walls had been stripped back to brick in the living room. Some plaster remained, but not much. The floors were covered in unopened letters and scraps of paper and receipts. The windows looked grimy. Claire doubted they’d been opened in years. A brick fireplace stood in the wall to the left, jammed up with balled-up newsprint.

Her heart sinking, and forgetting Owen was behind her, she walked into the kitchen.

A similar situation. The cupboard doors had either been removed or fallen off out of age or disrepair. The carcasses were decent, but covered with about a foot of dust and dirt. An ancient microwave shared counter space with a two-ring cooker. Below it, an oven - old, but it was there.

Claire mentally rolled up her sleeves before walking into the bathroom.

The tub was old, but no cracks, and mercifully little dirt, aside from about ten dozen spiders who’d taken up residence. She’d be serving them their notice tomorrow morning.

She took a breath before depressing the handle on the toilet. It flushed. At least there was that.

Last, the bedroom. The window was papered up again. A beautiful iron bedframe dominated the room, no mattress. The floor was bare again, but seemed sturdy enough.

She mentally rolled up her sleeves.

“Hell of a renovation project,” Owen said quietly from the doorway.

Claire nodded, looking at the intricate ironwork on the bedframe’s headboard. “I should have expected this. Really.”

“Let me guess. The ad was sparse?”

Her mouth kicked up a notch. “You could almost hear tumbleweed rolling across the paper it was printed on.”

Their gazes held for a second, and she thought,  _ good Lord, is he  _ ever  _ hot _ , and then he broke the eye contact. “Guess I’ll finish up unloading.”

A moment later he was back, setting the last of her life, packed up from NYC, on the floor by the bed. 

“Thank you. I mean. I’m… I’m sorry I can’t even offer you a drink.” She stared at the window. A tiny crack in the newsprint offered a view of the street outside, and inspiration struck. “Is that coffeehouse open yet?”

“Sure. Seven most days.”

“Then, coffee it is. Any preference?”

“Just black, thanks. I should go… how about I go shower and come back, help you sweep away some of these cobwebs?”

He had no idea, Claire thought for a second, how many there were. Not only here, but inside her. 

She gulped, suddenly overwhelmed by the move, the drive, the bed without a mattress - the amount of work her big dream required, and only her and her two hands to do it. A mountain stood before her, and she hadn’t even worn hiking boots.

She  _ really _ did not think things through. It was a major flaw.

“Sorry, I-” She turned away, annoyed with herself as the first tear leaked out.

“Hey.” 

She looked up to see Owen standing before her, concern sketched on his handsome face. He was even better looking up close, his looks Hollywood perfection with an edge of rugged. The scruff on his jaw, not quite a beard, but more than stubble, made her palms itch to touch it. She curled her hands into fists.

He gently tipped her face up with a finger under her chin.

Claire pressed her lips together. “I don’t make a habit of crying in front of strangers,” she said evenly, her breaths finally slowing. “Just so you know.”

Owen dropped his hand. “I don’t make a habit of picking the locks of women on the sidewalk,” he replied. “Just so you know. I’ll see you in a few.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire learns more about her impulse-buy bakery and about Owen.

Owen jogged the two blocks home, the redhead on his mind the entire way. The fall of her russet red hair, swinging to her shoulders, a waterfall of silk, had caught the sunlight as she’d stood there, cursing the door of the old dollar store. 

He’d genuinely stopped to check she was okay, but what man could have resisted her eyes? Pale green eyes, they were too big for her face, giving her a doe-like look, but Owen already knew better than to believe that she was a damsel in distress. Who moved across the country, bought a building they’d never laid eyes on, and packed their entire life into a car? 

Someone with a core of steel. He’d bet his last dollar on it.

It was about time this town had some new life breathed into it. He really wanted to see what Claire would do with the place.

*****

The coffee was still hot when Owen returned. The front door was ajar, so he let himself in, found Claire upstairs in the living area, unpacking a box. Around her stood several cleaning products, gloves, cloths and scourers.

She looked up and handed him a takeout cup.

He wore another Henley, this one the deep green of a forest in mid summer. Darkwash jeans hugged his legs like a lover, and he wore scarred boots on his feet. He set down a huge toolbox, took the coffee.

“Thanks.”

“You have a toolbox?”

“It says I have to own one on my mancard.” When she raised a brow, he added, “Kidding. I’m a carpenter.”

“And here I was thinking you were a professional lockpick,” she deadpanned, liking him, and wondering what to do about it.

Nothing. The answer was  _ nothing _ .

_ You came here for a fresh start, remember? To grow your business. Not flirt with the locals. _

Although wasn’t she a local, now?

“No need to worry. I’m not planning on stealing anything from you.” Genuine warmth filled his clear green eyes, and for a moment she wondered what it was like to be loved by him. If he had a big, generous heart. How he kissed.

How he did plenty of other things, too.

Claire gestured around her. “You’re welcome to it. I don’t know why I carted half this stuff here with me.”

“Everyone’s got baggage.”

As she digested his miraculously astute comment, Owen sipped his coffee. 

The steam from the liquid drifted up before his face. She got the impression, again, that his clear green eyes saw right through her, and she struggled not to squirm a bit in her seat. What was it about him that made her think that he'd cut right through the bullshit and see to the heart of her? What if she laid herself bare before him, would just the right caress from his hands make her forget everything?

The question burned, so she put it away.

“So. What can I do?”

Claire gazed at him for a second, a dishcloth in one hand, and asked the question she’d been thinking since he’d appeared by her side over an hour ago. “Why are you here?”

“Well, for one, I live here. Second, I have a vested interest in you getting this place up and running, because, let me tell you, there has been a serious and tragic lack of decent cake in this town for years. Third, does everyone who helps you have to have an agenda?”

His question completely skewered her, and Claire looked away for a moment. “Sorry. I’m not used to…. This. Helpful people.”

“I guess it’s rarer to have helpful neighbours in NYC.”

“Or even neighbours you’ve met.” She picked up her own coffee, and stood up. “Thanks. I mean it. I suppose… could we get the windows open?”

It took teamwork, but together they forced the windows open in all the rooms. The ones in the bedroom had been painted shut. Claire grabbed fistfuls of the newsprint, yanking it away, letting the morning sunlight spill into the rooms. It made her feel better. More in control.

Seb would have needled her for it.

But that didn’t matter, because Seb was part of her old life, back in NYC. The life she’d closed the door on. Hopefully for good.

Was anyone ever rid of their past?

She would try to be.

She’d at least try not to touch her stomach every five seconds. 

She was working on improving that reflex.

Claire breathed in the air that rushed in as soon as the window was cracked open. It smelled clean, fresh… green. The opposite of New York. For a blissful moment, she felt completely free.

She stared at the view. Clusters of trees lined Main Street. A few people milled about, some drinking coffee, others taking their dogs for a morning walk.

It was about one hundredth the speed of New York, if even that, and she couldn’t be happier about it.

As she turned from the window, Owen came back into the room, dusting his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. “The others are open now.”

“Thanks. Really, I-” she stepped towards him, intending to, maybe pat his shoulder, or something? And her foot went through the floor.

“Whoa!” He lunged and grabbed her before her entire leg went through, lifting her into his arms.

They stared at each other for a moment before Claire pushed at his shoulders, embarrassed. “Thank you, but you can put me down, now.”

“Not happening. This place is a death trap.”

She raised a brow. “Please put me down?”

He carted her out of the apartment and down the stairs instead, setting her on her feet when they reached the shop space. 

Claire sighed. “Well. It’s more work than I thought, but I can set my sleeping bag down here for a few nights.”

“You’re not sleeping here?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course I am.” Just what she needed, another guy who liked telling people what to do. “That’s the point. I live up there and work downstairs, it’s perfect. No commute, no extra rent costs.”

“Every single one of those damn floorboards might need replacing,” he shot back. “I won’t be here next time.”

She eyed him. “I’d hope not. The advert didn’t say there’d be a live-in alpha male. I’d expect a discount for that.”

Owen smiled slightly at that, but pushed a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed. “You really  _ can’t  _ stay here. At least not until it’s properly renovated.”

She set her hands on her hips. “I really can. The alternative is extending my stay at the hotel in the next town over, at eighty bucks a night.” More than her meagre budget allowed. Quite a bit more, actually.

She had a mind to punch everyone at the bank in the face. They must have known the state this place was in…?

Of course they knew, she told herself. That’s why it was so cheap.

She’d let her huge dream, and her blinkered desire to outrun the past, blind her to the reality of owning a building and having to self-renovate it.

“You can stay with me,” Owen said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Her head whipped around. “Excuse me? I met you two hours ago. For all I know, you could be a… a serial killer,” she finished lamely.

“Wouldn’t I have killed you by now?” he countered.

“Not if you wanted to tie me up and torture me.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to swallow them back. 

She watched as Owen’s eyes went dark.

“If I ever tie you up, darlin’, I can promise it won’t be torture.”

_ Okay then. _

Claire’s mouth went dry for a moment, her imagination immediately conjuring an image of Owen above her in the dark, his mouth moving over her, making her feel alive in ways she’d never thought possible. Making her body bow under his, sweetly, like a much loved and half-remembered song.

A hefty dose of reality slapped her in the face again, interrupting the fantasy. If she accepted Owen’s offer, it meant that she had already failed. Seb’s words last week circled around in her head.

_ I’m betting you won’t last five minutes outside New York. _

“Sorry,” Owen added, misreading her silence for more misgivings, rather than the sexy fantasy that her brain had hit PLAY on. “Look, I have a sister. She lives with me - her and her little boy. If she was in this situation, I’d want her to have somewhere safe to sleep. At least come and meet her - no, wait, I’ll have her meet us at the ice cream place. She’ll tell you I’m not a serial killer.”

“Uh..she’s your sister. Of course she would. She’d probably help you hide me body.”

He did laugh at that. “She probably would, yeah. Siblings have to help each other out. Is there  _ nothing  _ I can do to get you out of this death trap?”

A scuttling noise interrupting their conversation. Claire turned her head in time to see a huge, dirt-brown rat scurrying past the bottom of one of her would-be counter spaces. The rat paused, seeming to pin her with its beady gaze. Its nose twitched. She wondered if it was calling for backup.

“Let me just grab my keys.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we meet Owen's sister and her cute kid.

Owen headed back to his place briefly, scooping up Teddy and Jenna on the way back to the ice cream parlour off Main street. Teddy needed a diaper change, so he managed to avoid most of Jenna’s probing questions, but once they were walking, with Teddy in his stroller, busily sucking his feet, Owen got it with both barrels.

“So you just met her?”

Patiently Owen repeated the story. 

Jenna frowned. “Wow, she must be seriously hot.”

“It’s not like that.” At his sister’s arch look, Owen held up both hands. “Okay, so it’s maybe a little like that. If it was you, would you want to sleep in a rat infested death trap, where every floorboard could give way at any moment?”

“Depends.”

“On…?”

“If I thought the stranger offering up his home would kill me in my sleep.”

“Jesus.” He laughed at her expression, and her dry delivery. “You’re not meant to be on her side. Look, Jenna-”

“I know. I’ll tell her you’re not a serial killer. Wonder if the fact you walk around half-naked of a morning will be a plus or a minus point in your favour?”

“Bringing you was possibly the worst idea I’ve ever had,” Owen groused as he opened the door to One Scoop, the town ice cream parlour. 

Claire sat by the window, her elbow on the formica table and her chin in her cupped hand. The swing of her red hair hung just below her jaw, and the light from outside turned the red strands a deep, glossy auburn.

She looked like she tasted better than every ice cream flavour this place sold.

“ _ That’s _ her?” Jenna asked. “OK. I see why you stopped.”

Saying nothing, Owen led his sister over, and Jenna parked the stroller by the table. 

“Hi,” she started, and Claire looked up. “There’s no way to do this that isn’t awkward, but I’m Jenna, and this is my brother Owen, who is not a serial killer, that I’m aware of.”

“Wow. Thanks for that last bit,” Owen muttered to no one in particular.

“Hi.” Claire bent down to Teddy, who looked up at her uncertainly for a second before offering his trademark grin, reserved only for beautiful women. “Who’s this little heartbreaker?”

“This is Teddy,” Jenna said proudly. “He’s nearly ten months.”

Teddy held up a tiny hand, wet from drool, and Owen chuckled as Claire shook it as seriously as if she were doing a business deal. “Pleased to meet you, Teddy.”

The baby gurgled and squealed happily, letting loose a string of “bah bah bahs” and waving his tiny bare feet around.

Owen cleared his throat. “So, ah, as we’ve established that I’m not going to kill you, Claire, shall we get some ice cream?”

“I’d love some. Chocolate, please?”

He glanced at the gigantic counter to make sure she’d seen it. “They’ve got over a hundred flavours. You sure you only want chocolate?”

Claire shrugged her shoulders. “I’m afraid I used every adventurous bone in my body moving across the country. Right now, comfort food is all I’ve got. That, and a building that could give out on me at any moment.”

“Get the woman a chocolate ice cream,” Jenna added. “Make it two, actually.”

They were ganging up on him, so Owen retreated to the safety of the ice cream counter and ordered from the kid behind it. One Scoop had been here since he was a teenager. He remembered fondly trying to steal kisses from high school girls between bites of ice cream sundae. He’d been successful about fifty percent of the time, but even if he wasn’t, the ice cream had always been worth the trip.

As the kid doled out scoops, sprinkles, and whipped cream, Owen leaned against the counter and watched Claire talk to Jenna, the baby on his sister’s lap. Jenna talked animatedly, Claire more reserved, the swing of her red hair glossy in the midday light from the parlour’s big windows. She was a class act, all right. He could see her in New York, all heels and business, perfectly at home in her designer blazer among the yellow taxis and bright streetlights.

She looked out of place in this town, a fish floundering out of water.

But it was her eyes that really drew him. They were almost bottomless, and something about them was - sad. Very.

Especially when she looked at Teddy. There was a hell of a story there.

_ Don’t think about it _ , he ordered himself.

The last thing he needed was another girl from the big smoke. They always went back there, sooner or later, unable to resist the lure of urban life, big bucks, 24/7 grocery stores.

He always got left behind.

Hadn’t he given himself a stern talking to, the last time this happened? And yet. 

And yet, he’d stopped to help, hadn’t he?

Like a glutton for punishment.

“Ten dollars ninety,” the kid summed up, pushing a tray towards him. Owen paid and carted the ice cream over and set the tray down.

Jenna’s eyes lit up. “You got my favourite!” to Claire, she added, “Owen spoils me.”

“Is  _ that  _ why you won’t leave?” Owen asked dryly, an eyebrow arched.

Claire lifted the dish with the chocolate off the tray. Her hands cupped around the thick glass cup, her fingers small and thin with pale grey painted nails. “Thank you. But I’m not moving in with you.”

“A week,” he countered, jabbing his spoon in her direction.

“Not happening.”

“Four nights.”

Jenna watched the exchange between them as she dug into her sundae, amused. Teddy reached for the cup and Jenna scooped a little ice cream on to her finger, letting him lick it off. He gurgled happily.

“Still no.”

“Three nights.”

Claire raised an elegant brow. “Do you even understand English?”

“He was always a bit slow,” Jenna butted in.

Owen threw her a look which said that her contribution was not appreciated. 

Teddy threw his arms in the air, looking between all the faces with absolute delight. Jenna fed him another tidbit. He squealed with joy.

“Your. Building. Has. Rats,” Owen evened out.

“I. Am. Sleeping. There,” Claire replied in the same even, slow, tone. “I  _ literally  _ have no other choice financially. I appreciate your offer, Owen, I really do. But I didn’t even know you when I woke up this morning. I’m not staying in your house.”

“Fine. Then I’ll stay with you.”

“Oh my God,” Claire ground out. She threw a look at Jenna. “Is he always like this?”

His sister grinned around her spoon. “No. Only since he could talk.”

“I can at least help you put down rat poison, and mend that floorboard,” Owen offered, tossing something into the ring that he hoped she wouldn’t be able to resist, especially as she was cash-strapped. It was a low move, he knew that, but it just didn’t sit right that she should be alone in a building that seemed about as stable as a cereal box. 

He watched her consider it.

“One night,” she said eventually. “And you’ll be in a separate room to me.”

“Obviously.”

Her surprise at his ready agreement showed, and Owen bit back an apology. He might bulldoze people into things sometimes, if he felt it was for their own good, but he’d never get in a woman’s personal space without permission.

“Thanks for the ice cream.” Claire moved her empty dish slightly away. Her tongue peeked out one corner of her mouth, licking away a small smear of chocolate. Owen made himself think unsexy thoughts. “I’d better get to Target if I’m going to have any hope of using that building for anything other than wrecking ball fodder.”

Teddy started to make an impatient noise, and Jenna stood. “My cue to exit. He gets bored easily these days.” She kissed the baby noisily, prompting squeals of laughter, then buckled him into the stroller. “Great to meet you, Claire. If you ever want to grab a coffee, let me know. I’ll have to bring Teddy, but I’ll be sure to lock my brother in before I leave.”

Claire laughed. “I’ll definitely take you up on that last part.”

Owen finished his ice cream and he and Claire stood at the same time. He held out his hand. “If you leave the keys with me, I’ll start on that floorboard.” And any others that looked suspect, he added, but not out loud.

She hesitated. “You know you don’t have to.”

“Claire. Are you always so stubborn when people offer to help you?”

“It’s just...” she folded her arms, drawing attention to the shape of her breasts under the white fabric of her shirt. “I don’t have anything to offer you.”

He made himself not think about all the things she had that he already wanted. “Sure you do. Cake.”

Her gaze dropped to his abs. “You don’t look like you eat a lot of cake.”

“Well, appearances can be deceiving.”

Something passed over her face then, but whatever he’d said, it must have been right, because she handed him the keys from her pocket. “I…”

“Just say, thanks, Owen.”

“Thanks, Owen.”

He liked the sound of his name on her lips. As he held the door of One Scoop open for her, he could only hope that she wanted to put down roots in this town. Would she be another Rebecca, hightailing it out of here as soon as NYC fluffed its skirts?

Only time would tell.

*****

Claire wandered around Target aimlessly for a half hour, her head full of Owen, his sister and his cute-as-a-button nephew. What was the story there? Brothers and sisters didn’t usually live together.

She looked down at her cart and its contents, mentally listing what she had and what she needed.

Sleeping bag: 1

Camp bed: 1

Microwave oven, the cheapest available: 1

Ramen noodles: 5 packs

Cook-in-bag veggie rice: 4 packs

Coffee: 1 jar

It was possibly the saddest thing she’d ever seen. She looked like someone about to go into the jungle (minus the microwave) and become a hermit.

A hermit with precarious flooring, if not for Owen Sexy-Carpenter Grady.

“Face it, your life would be a lot worse without him right now,” she muttered, tossing a box of handwash detergent into her cart. Who knew if the washing machine in the apartment worked or was even connected?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she started with excitement for a moment, before realising that Owen didn’t even have her number.

“Stop being such a teenage girl,” she chided herself, pulling her phone out.

When she saw that it was a missed call from Seb, she dropped the phone like a hot poker, staring at it on the floor for a second, before she made herself pick it up and shove it back in her pocket.

He had nothing to say that she wanted to hear.

The call put a damper on her already pretty depressing shopping trip. After even the huge baking aisle failed to interest her, Claire drove back, enjoying the scenery despite herself. She did a circuit around Forest Hill before returning, passing the big oak trees and the compact houses, well kept and clean, some with dogs and kids playing on the front porches.

It was as good a place as any to lick her wounds, and maybe a place where they’d heal, too.

When she arrived back at the shop - Cake Out? Hmm, too casual? - the sounds of hammering greeted her. She hefted her bags into the front of house area, and climbed the stairs.

Owen knelt by the faulty floorboard, and in its place sat one of fresh wood, light and clean compared to its siblings.

He glanced up, and the whole ridiculous package of him - that scruffy jaw, bottomless sea green eyes, and toolbelt set at a jaunty angle - made her temporarily breathless.

Then again, it was probably her heavy Target bags and the stairs.

“Here.” He rose, and took them off her. She noticed then that he’d set her up Keurig in the kitchen area, and the counters there, though tired and chipped, had been cleaned and polished.

Claire moved over to the coffee machine reverently. “Thank you for doing this. I don’t know what I’d do without caffeine in the morning.”

“You and most other Americans.” He joined her at the counter and ran a hand over the sleek body of the coffeemaker. “Nicest model I’ve seen.”

“I got her in the divorce,” she quipped offhandedly, then caught herself. “I mean… I’m not actually divorced. I… We’re not together anymore.”

He held her gaze for a moment. She didn’t read any judgement there, just curiosity. “And that’s why you bought the deathtrap?”

To give herself something to do with her hands, and because she didn’t know how to answer right away, Claire chose a k-cup from the box beside the machine. “Want one?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

The familiarity of the task calmed her as the Keurig bubbled away. “I just wanted a fresh start,” she said at length, feeling his gaze on her, wondering how much to say. How much to let him in. She’d been down that road before. When you let people in, they eventually hurt you, and the most recent time, she almost hadn’t crawled out of the hole Seb had dug her. 

Sometimes she thought she was only one step away from falling back in. “I let myself be blinded by that. It comes to something when you’re looking through real estate ads at four a.m and the words “needs a little love” don’t scare the hell out of you.”

“Sounds like something else had scared the hell out of you already,” Owen replied softly.

Claire stared at the coffee dripping down into the chipped mug, feeling stripped bare by his soft words.

“So,” she said cheerfully, having no idea how to respond to his kindness, and wondering if that made her weak or strong. “I’d better call pest control for the rats downstairs. People aren’t generally fans of rat tail cupcakes, or so I’ve heard.”

“Go ahead. I just want to check the rest of these floorboards.”

Feeling like a coward, but in truth grateful for the escape, Claire stood in the hall and phoned one of the pest control companies she’d looked up on Yelp whilst she’d schlepped around Target.

She phoned three before she realised that their answer wasn’t going to change.

The place needed to be fumigated.

And for that, she needed to be out of there. Completely.

Which meant she needed somewhere to stay, for forty-eight entire hours. 

She just could not catch a break.

Claire cast her eyes upwards. Owen was there, one floor up, looking at her floorboards with his stupid sexy face and his really sexy body.

Was she really going to go and tell him she’d decided to take him up on his offer of a few nights at his place?

The alternative was spending money she didn’t have on a hotel. She could probably drive around and find a crummy motel for less money, but-

Footfalls on the stairs made her turn. Owen stood a few steps away, a question in his sea green eyes.

“Pest control want you out?”

She swallowed. “Owen-”

“Are you always this difficult when people try to help you?”

This time, she swallowed back a laugh. “Yes, actually.”

He half-laughed. “Have you tried  _ not  _ being difficult?”

“You know, it hadn’t occurred to me, but I guess it’s good to try new things once in a while.”

He lifted a shoulder and dropped it in a half shrug she found more than a little adorable. “The thing is, Claire-”

They were interrupted by a loud rap on the door.


End file.
